Sleep
#20 of Confessions of a Gay Porn Star
"Norton, Mister James Norton?"
I was glad to leave the piss-smelling waiting room, even if that meant following the nurse through the corridor filled with the extras from whatever zombie movie was popular nowadays, lying on their cots and beds and looking so damn helpless. The nurse let me into a small room with a hospital bed and tubes hanging on the walls and a massive lamp on the ceiling and a tired-looking cougar wearing blue scrubs and some purple gloves. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week.
I knew the feeling.
"Good day," the cougar said, "I'm Doctor Bailey."
He didn't offer to shake my paws or anything else, just greeted me from behind a strange table on wheels that had a small computer sitting on it, with what I presumed to be my medical records open on it.
"Jimmy Norton," I huffed as I sat down onto the edge of the bed, not finding anywhere else to sit besides a small stainless steel stool that seemed way too uncomfortable.
"What seems to be your problem today?" the cougar questioned while he poked at the keyboard.
"Well, I really can't sleep too well," I said. "I keep tossing and turning in bed and it can take hours before I get to sleep. Sometimes I don't manage to sleep more than three, four hours a night."
Typey-typey-typey. Major complaint registered. I knew how these things worked.
"Has this been going on for long?" the cougar sounded distant.
I coughed.
"A few weeks, " I rumbled.
Ever since...fuck...
"Do you have any idea what could have caused your sleep disturbance?" the cougar was to the point, it seemed. "Have there been any major changes in your daily activities or your general situation that could have affected your normal sleeping cycle?"
Was there ever?"
"Well, I've been...out of work, really," I explained, "for the past few months I've been working infrequently."
"And what do you do?" the cougar was typing even as he spoke.
"I'm a freelance performer," I said, deadpan.
Tap-tap-tap-click.
"I see..."
I wasn't sure what he was seeing, but I had an idea that he'd seen that part of my file that included an extensive section on regular STD testing, all of which had to be done through the system so that I could get officially stamped records on it which the studios wanted for those ever so important health and safety reasons.
"And you have not been working recently?"
"Not for the past few weeks, no," I said. "Work's a bit slow."
"Do you have any alternative forms of employment?"
I yawned. I felt really tired after another sleepless night and a four-hour wait in the ER.
"I've been looking into it a bit but nothing yet, really."
"I see..."
I knew I would have to tell.
"There was this...incident...a few weeks back..." I started.
"Yes?" the doctor seemed attentive for once.
I sighed.
"I found a...a friend...dead," I spilled it out. No point making it any harder on anyone.
"I'm sorry to hear about your loss. Was it an accidental death?"
There you go. Compassion followed by all-business.
I shook my head.
"I dunno. The cops found some drugs from his apartment but they don't know yet if he died because of them or whatever else, but I...I found him."
"That must have been very difficult for you, Mister Norton."
You don't say?
"Yeah...never saw anything like that before."
That black tongue hanging between those purple lips...
"insomnia is a very common symptom of a post-traumatic stress reaction...combined with your current living situation, I think it might very well be the cause of your sleeplessness."
I hung my head.
"I'm just so really tired."
"Long-term insomnia causes a wide range of effects that are potentially life-threatening," the cougar said, "the best we can do is to try and break the cycle before things escalate to a much worse situation. Some sleep advice and possibly a short course of medication to help you sleep might be of benefit here. I would also advice you to seek psychiatric evaluation to see whether you would benefit from counseling."
I tensed. This same ramble again. Why the fuck were they always asking me if I wanted to see a shrink? The knee doctor had done the same thing before...and now this fucking cougar...
"Whatever helps," I said, "just want to sleep. I'm starting to feel groggy every day."
Tap tap tap tap ta tap tap tap tap tap.
"We'll have to assess your condition first, however," the cougar replied. "Before prescribing any kind of hypnotics, I have to make sure that there is no potential for substance abuse. I have to make some questions about alcohol use and other recreational drugs. I will also have to ask you to submit a urine sample so that we can screen for any substances in your body at the moment."
I snorted.
"Would I be fucking begging for sleeping pills here if I already bought smack on the street?" my tail snapped against the bed, making the steel clatter.
The cougar's ears flattened briefly, but his voice betrayed none of his feelings or thoughts.
"We are legally obliged to perform screening to ensure we're not handing out substances of abuse potential. We are entitled to check any patient who fulfils the criteria."
"Like gay porn stars?" I snorted, my furs spiking.
The cougar stepped away from his computer.
"I'm going to have to call the security if you behave aggressively, Mister Norton."
I slumped onto the bed, the wind knocked out of me by such a brief show of nervous lion on my part. I just didn't have any more strength left.
I couldn't even cry if I wanted to.